Through the Window
'Gate Town - ' ---- ::Beyond the Shadow Gate in the Shadow District, the very old township of Gate Town straddles the old Palace Road at the very eastern edge of the Shadow Wall. Once a path of broken cobbles and ruined buildings, Palace Road has since been repaired with neatly cut cobbles while the edges are now completely clear of debris. ::Before the raising of the Aegis and the establishment of the Kingdom,trade flowed easily into the realm of Fastheld through this prosperous village. At some point, the town gave way to corruption and became naught but a hovel abandoned except for by the realm's poorest citizens. Since the arrival of the Ravensguard, however, the establishment of order and regeneration of trade have begun. ::As the front line between the security of the Kingdom and the corruption of the Shadow District, the Ravensguard works tirelessly to retain control over one of the few places in the district where Royal Law still holds sway.The town is far from peaceful for newcomers, however, and guards are necessary to escort outsiders through the unyielding streets. ::To the far west and north is notorious urban sprawl of the Fetters where peasants are ruled by thugs and gangs. To the southwest is the town of Halo where houses still stand on the edge of a large abyss. Far to the east, the township of Lightholder can be found. ---- The sandaled crusader emerges from the Noose's alleys, grumbling as he manages to brush off most of what was on him and clear out anything unsettling from his hair, staggering his way over to the others. Although he managed to avoid any outright embarassing stains or otherwise dirtying himself, one thing he can not brush off is the smell. If he smelled a little too fresh for a freelander before, that problem is now solved in spades. Wolfsbane moves along to descend down one of the inhospitable alleyways few buildings away from the Silveredge hall, the man's steps growing conciously more quiet and measured once he's out of sight of the main road. Following the twisted, smelly alleys through the slum, he winds his way gradually back to the mercenary headquarters. Taking no chances at night in the Shadow District, the well armed and armoured mercenary that is Lucius Nepos comes striding out from the Noose, a bright red slap mark on his face. Thankfuly, the other good thing about night is that you don't see such things, unless you're somewhere with some un-natural light. He tacks his long spear from behind the shield and grasps it by the rear grip, heading also through the alleys instead of across the street. His footfalls attempt to be quiet nonetheless, armour and equipment well secured, as if practiced. Twilight and shadow are the weapon and armor of one who wishes to remain unseen, as is the observation that people seldom look up. Thatched roofs and crumbling stone walls make for treacherous footing, however, so it's with cautious steps and jumps timed just-so that Reese darts between the buildings. Her agility dares to fail her when feet nearly fail to find purchase on the edge of the compound's rooftop, however - her arms shoot out and wind, her frame wavering like a dancing wraith, until a moment later she thankfully steadies. It's not until she's crouched in the shadow of the ruined chimney that she slings Vice from her shoulder, listening, watching and waiting from her vantage point on high. The building seems utterly unaware of all of this stalking, empty windows watching the street impassively. Wolfsbane creeps about the alley. He's been getting rather used to finding his way around these lately, all things said. Of course, the smell is atrocious. Slipping about to the side of the Silveredge Company Hall, he moves carefully about, seeking out side doors or windows or unicorns. The crossbowman merely stands idly at the meeting point, folding his arms impatiently and tapping his foot as he glances around with a glum expression. Lucius Nepos is a few metres behind Wolfsbane at this point, slinking forward in pursuit of what the other man is looking for, probably. Looks like Norran's gonna be kept waiting a mite longer, unfortunately enough for him. Nepos's fingers flex and relax around the grip of the war spear, his breathing controlled but quick. Blackfox remains in the shadows across the street for a moment, keeping beneath the eaves of the tavern, bow in hand and arrow resting on the string. She keeps a watchful eye, watching Lucius' back as he heads towards the empty-looking building. The crossbowman's impatience grows, his foot tapping increasing as he glances about with an annoyed expression. After enough time has passed, he exhales deeply and begins to back up away from the door a decent distance, beginning to jog in place. Once he's reached his desired speed, he then makes to bullrush the door with a whirl of drunken rage and kicked-up dust. Just as it seems he's about to strike, however, he abruptly gives a hop and stops himself prematurely, skidding somewhat with his sandals just inches away from crashing into the door and...decides to see if he can open it using 'conventional' means, i.e., the handle. Rather than going /through/ the door - remarkably - trying the handle meets with.. A distinct lack of success. The front door of the building is securely barred, from the inside. However, in that close proximity? An odd sound comes through the door - a sort of slurred... singing. Off key. Very bad. Vhram still searches along the side and back of the building, carefully inching about quietly in search of alternate means of entry. Lucius Nepos splits off from Vhramis, moving to the front of the building. He motions to the busted out window, quite near to the main entrance now, flagging Norran down, too. Whether the somewhat drunken crossbowman will see him is another story entirely, but Nepos decides to slip his form through the window. He starts by putting his spear and shield through, then pulling the rest of his body in. There /is/ a back door - barred, yes - but the small shuttered casement to the side moves slightly, almost beckoning the ranger in. Suddenly, as Luc climbs through the window... NOTHING CLAWS HIS FACE OFF. But it is dark - perhaps not unexpected. The room beyond is a rather wide meeting-hall, space enough for dozens and tables for them.. but it is empty. Expectant. Waiting. Fox.. across the street.. is joined by a fellow in a very grimy shirt that smells faintly of something better left unmentioned. "Now /yer/ a pretty one, ye are.." Up on the roof, Caprice skulks from shadow to shadow, keeping low, keeping quiet, and moving with a careful quickness. A rat watches her with beady black eyes, zipping away when her boot falls too near, but she pays it no mind; her gaze sweeps the dark shapes for anything resembling a door. Blackfox turns just the slightest bit, pulling back on the bowstring enough that it brings the very sharp point of the arrow back to about hip-height, angled just a wee bit south as she faces the man. "Go. Away." Whether the fellow notices Lucius or not is up in the air, but he /is/ supposed to be a distraction, yes? Perhaps keeping this in mind or perhaps simply driven into a rage, the man carried an aghast expression as he hears what's going on within. "Argh! There'sh a crime is progressh, and the victim is SHONG!" angrily declares the man, backpedalling back from the door to give him a good distance and kneel down in an athletic stance. Staring with fire burning in his emerald gaze, his backside is raised in preparation before he explodes in a proper rush toward the door. Dust whirls around him as the man makes a flying leap into the air to crash into the door in a fury with all of his weight. The sound of terrible, possibly drunken singing finally comes to Nepos's his ears and he cringes, though it's more likely than not that nobody will see the twist of expression. Holding his shield defensively, now, and his spear out at the ready he is about to start creeping toward the sound when he hears Norran yelling his lungs out. He shuffles into the shadow instead, waiting for the inevitable crash and watching. Oh. Hello. Vhramis peers at the casement, stepping over to carefully try to tug open the shutters and look inside. Course, if they open, and he doesn't see anyone, he'll try to slip in, though all the shouting from the other side of the building does cause him to wince. The roof is not exactly a place /rife/ with doors - but a slatted high window, just wide enough for a small slip of Firelight to wiggle through? That has potential. The fellow who stands in immenent loss of his ability to sire children raises his hands, offers a grin filled with more gap than teeth, "Now, now, jus' bein' friendly. No harm in a man askin' how much, aye?" The drunken crossbowman? Well, he charges the door. He puts a shoulder down. He crashes!... and he bounces off. That door is a sturdy one.. but there /is/ a crack. The wood /does/ shiver - and something does /give/. It's looser in its frame, now. The shutter opens to Vhamris's insistance. Peering inside sees - well. It's dark in there. Darker than out here, in fact, and a little high. But it /is/ climbable - and slipping in will likely be a definite possibility.. There is a slight creaking, the only sound that comes from Blackfox's direction, as the string is pulled taut, "I am not for sale," she hisses, "Now walk away before you lose the ability to make use of what you seek to purchase." Progress! As Norran backs off and lands unsteadily on his feet, he gives a determined nod as he clenches his fists and pivots on his foot to run back and regain his previous stance, grinning wide. "HAH! A formidable foesh, but no mashtch! Prepare to be /shmote/, foul door! TALLY-SHO!" delivers the man as his battlecry, a stampeding bull charging once more for his target as he decides to take a more grounded approach, aiming for where he thinks the door would have given way. Lucius Nepos is not a happy camper, it would seem, at the sound of Norran trying to crash down a door only a few metres away from him. He stays quiet, though, tucked in the Shadow and waiting for Norran to inevitably come barreling through a door and probably passing out. He slips his hand slowly up the war spear's shaft to the throwing strap. Wolfsbane slips into the room, his feet squishing softly into a pile of /something/. His lips curl back, the man stifling a sudden desire to loudly wretch. Grasping at his cloak, he yanks it about, pressing the fabric against his nose and mouth. Footfalls crunching softly on rotten footstuff and an innumerable amount of insects and rodent droppings, he inches to the door, pushing it open slightly to peer into the kitchen. It's a tight fit, tight enough for Caprice to visibly weigh her options under a moment's consideration of the darkened portal. Slinging Vice back upon her shoulder, she steps lightly to the window's edge, shifting her weight to her toes and buoying her balance with the counterweight of arms extended just barely. Only the most cursory glance is given to what awaits inside before she slides in, as lithe and limber as a greased-up cat. You know - say what you like about the Ravensguard - but they /do/ take certain things seriously in Gate Town. Drunk fellows smashing into doors? ATTENTION GETTING. Indeed. Four members of what passes for the law (and not too bad a law at /that/) certainly take notice, and amble that way, moving a bit /faster/ when the door breaks loose, falls in, and takes the yelling fellow with it to land heavily inside. On the roof, Caprice finds herself entering a simple 'cell' - a bedroom with a cot, a basin for water, and a door that stands open, likely an unused sleeping space. Beyond, a black hall beckons onward; the abysmal singing more clear. Below, Vhramis finds himself in a kitchen, well stocked but disused - the singing louder, but the door crashing to the floor likely a more pressing thought. Fox? Fox's 'suitor' backs away, "Fine! As y' say - " But with a leer.. before he turns to move away, heading for a nearby alley. Luc? Well. There's a Norran on a door in a meeting hall. Blackfox watches the man go, managing to hide her trembling until he had turned to away. She lets out a breath as she eases up on the bowstring, stepping backwards and away from him, deeper into the shadows. She takes a deep breath to steady herself before turning back to watch for signs of anyone following her compatriots or taking undue notice of...oh. Guards. And Norran. This should be fun. Caprice does not move immediately to pursue the singing, no. She lingers just behind the door, melting into the blackness and drawing her hood up; it would not do to be recognized, and shadows have no features. She waits, listening, breathing slowly and steadily, trying to place the direction from where the sound comes - and its relative proximity to her position - before seeking to inspect the room's contents. The commotion Norran creates does not seem to particularly faze her; perhaps she is simply intent on making the best use of the diversion he creates. Wolfsbane's relief at being out of the foul smelling room is visible across his features as he pushes the door carefully closed. Glancing about the interior briefly, and not finding himself very hungry, he moves to leave. Instead of heading towards the singing and horrible commotion, he turns to head to the back stairway to ascend, squinting into the dark. "Sucshesh! Iron Man Varo Rivershtrider never mishesh hish mark, no he doeshn't!" proclaims 'Varo' in victory as he rises to his feet unsteadily but quickly, glancing off in the guard's direction as he gives a hand-signal to Lucius, 'I'll take care of them', roughly translating old Blades signals from inside the building where the coming guardsmen can't see. Stumbling his way out of the building, Varo gives a proud grin toward the coming guards. "Oh, oh, you wanshts shome of Varo, eh? Come at me, whelpsh! A little of the ol' Rivershtrider footwork, an you'll all be on the ground wisshing for your mothersh!" openly taunts the fellow, putting up his hands and backing away from the building toward the more open square as he gives a few test-punches in the air for a round of shadowboxing to, apparently, show the guards who they're dealing with. Lucius Nepos's lips press tightly together. If he can, he'll press himself further to the wall and shadows, probably thinking to himself how big of an idiot his immediate superior is. At this point he probably really wishes he had gone with the Pathfinder. Reese moves into the building - on and in search of singing... which is on the second floor, at the end of the hall, where a candle flickers and sends wan light out into the hall. But she is not alone - footsteps come from behind, from a stairway there. Vhramis moves upstairs slowly, hood drawn, staying as quiet as possible - but in the relative stillness of the House, being truly quiet is difficult at best. But there is a sound ahead, someone in the hall above, moving nearly as furtively... Downstairs, the Ravensguard draws up short and /stares/. Drunken. Large. Belligerent. This means /crossbows/. The two that have it level them - a blonde fellow on the left stepping forward to say, "Now, now, 's none of us looking for a /fight/. Now wot's this, breakin' down /doors/? Seems we've had a few, mm?" Lucius remains patient. And largely hidden. Fox? More of the same - though in an alley near her, there are quiet whispers, plans made. Inside, the singing continues, dirgelike. Crossbows are raised and Blackfox wonders for a fleeting moment if she should do something to help. But then she considers the target and tosses aside any thought of offering assistance, either because the man probably needs none or perhaps because she has no interest in giving him a hand. So instead she turns her attention to signs of others who might be paying mind to the activities going on about the old headquarters, watching their backs and counting on her silence and the shadows to cover her own. "Bowsh! Bowsh! Jusht hilarioush, what a bunch of cowardly Shahir whelpsh. There'sh FOUR of ya, and one o' me! Shure, shure, I undershtand that you're shcared. The oddsh are clearly in my favorsh, the four of yoush couldn't beat me in a fishtfight in a hundred yearsh, but shtill, musht you be sho obvioush?! If you're brave enough, I'll give you a lesshon in manhood you'll never forgetsh!" proudly declares Varo, his taunting grin widened as he gives a hops a little bit and gives a few bobs and weaves to the guard approaching him. Patience is not Lucius's forte, however, not the kind of patience in this case. Soon as he thinks he's got a distraction named 'Varo Riverstrider', he takes the opening to move through the meeting hall swiftly, and search the bottom floor for anything of interest. It's hard, given that there's no light. His eyes haven't adjusted yet. The slim digits slid through the fingerless sockets of the Pathfinder's gloves brush the hilt of Caprice's dagger, slipping it from her belt even as she detaches herself from the wall. Thinking fast and moving faster, she slips under the bed, bracing herself with one elbow and fit to spring or roll away. Wolfsbane hunches down some as he hears the movement in the hall, the man slowing his step as he slips up. Hard to tell just what's happening with the singing, but he draws a blade from his belt, peering up over the top stair to look briefly, before ascending completely and beginning to inch along the hallway. ... which leaves the two above to sort out which one of them is going to kill the other one. Though Caprice is firmly under the bed, at least she's not in the closet - and Vhamris has gained a few inches in his pursuit of bad singing. There's little of interest on the floor below - well, quite a bit if you were a thief. Failing that, there's little beyond the accumulated implements of living, now dusty though largely in place, stored against future use. The main stairway beckons up, however. Outside, the blonde fellow sighs, "When ye are sober, Master. Now, come along quiet with us - you know we've no time for playin'. And they /will/ shoot ye, they will, if we must to take you in. Now, you want that skin of yours creased more than once?" Three forms are deep in the alley behind Fox - and two of them unfold a blanket between them, a smelly horse-blanket, in fact. Creeping up on her, taking advantage of Norran's distraction. Happily oblivious to the woman hiding under the bed in the other room, Vhramis continues towards the singing, peeking in carefully to finally view the source. He looks rather skeptical, an eyebrow arching. "Oh, y'don't think I can fight? How about a bit of a game! If you shcared little tykesh can lay a /shingle/ finger on me, I'll be a good boy and go with you cowardsh who don't have the pride to take up a fight wherever yer wantin' me. Sho. Do you hash it, Shahir dogsh? DO YOU?!" challenges Varo with a boisterous laugh, positioning himself before the man approaching him. It wouldn't be right to say Lucius is dissapointed by the lack of important things on the first floor, because he doesn't seem to care much. He glances briefly in the direction of the door, smirking, now, as he's out of the danger zone, and then proceeds up the stairs, his hard boots not exactly the quietest thing on the wooden steps. Attuned to the forest and not the urban jungle, Fox picks up the sound of a boot scuff and the soft flap of cloth, but sound carries differently here between buildings and down narrow alleyways. As such, she misses the direction it comes from, mistaking it for one of the guards taking aim at Norran. She continues to keep watch then, oblivious for the moment but still alert to the world around her. For Reese - the booted feet that go by outside the cell are clearly visible, being sneaky. For vhram, spying the closed door and its flickering light may be surprising - and it is unlocked. Opening it? Well. It reveals behind it an unwashed, unshaven wreck of a man, a dagger on an oaken desk, a bottle near at hand - and bad, bad singing. Out in the street - the guardsman sighs, backs up a step. "Why do th' always figure we fight fair?" It's rhetorical. The crossbows sing - not aimed to kill, but then, it's all relative in GateTown. Fox discovers that smelly horse blankets offer their own warning - though she's very nearly enveloped in it as the three rough men do their best to grab her before she's able to give warning. At the moment? They fail miserably - but they're still there... Luc? Luc's boots make quite a bit of racket as he advances on Vhramis from the hallway to the ranger's left - his spear cresting the stairs before the rest of him. Lucius Nepos has got no idea who is upstairs from him, knowing only that there's someone who's never been trained to sing, and some of his friends on the inside. Who knows who else? Caution isn't thrown to the wind as he advances slowly, but stealth certainly is. His eyes dart around him, helmed head shifting when he can't get a good view of peripheral surroundings. He slowly moves in a semi-circle around the staircase, green blue eyes narrowing at the sight of the ranger's back. He smirks, but doesn't say anything yet. Doing an about face, he moves to put his back near the ranger's. It's assumed his loud footfalls would be plainly audible. "BAD. DECSHIOSHION," growls Varo, launching himself to entangle with the guard the moment he moves to step backward in a probable hope his compatriots would think twice about shooting in close quarters. A sandal'd foot is launched forward in a direct kick for the guard's abdomen to push him and his opponent into his guardly compatriots. Indeed it is the smell that tips her off, the men having approached from upwind, and so the diminutive huntress ducks beneath the blanket, ending up behind the men as they try to snag her in its folds. She blinks, taking a moment to take it in, stunned at the thought of what they were trying to do. And then instincts kick in, fight or flight, the hunter suddenly the hunted and realizing she was outnumbered and in unfamiliar territory. So she runs, straight for the guards as they level their weapons at Norran, "Help! They are trying to kidnap me!" When the man - that is, Vhramis - passes before the door, Caprice immediately rolls and peels herself from the floor. A pause, a second of frozen hesitation as Lucius clanks past, statue-still as blue eyes tracking his progress before recognition snakes its way to her brain. Still, she does little more than rap a knuckle on the floor: a barely audible signal to alert the soldier to her presence. If he looks her way, she does little more than arch her brows; regardless of whether he does or does not, she kisses the veil of shadow again to flank him in stealth, dagger finding sheath once again. Glancing behind him sharply at the approaching sound of boots, Vhramis' eyes widen a bit at Lucius, before the ranger turns about. Bursting into the room, like some sort of derranged ninja, he leaps at the seated, drunken man, working to topple him right off of his chair. There are only so many things a guardsman can worry about at once. Cardinal rule - /most important things/ trump /less important things/. So, crossbows twang, bolts are fired (aimed at locations meant to bring down, not kill - for now, at least), the surge and roar is deftly avoided by men who have done this dozens of times before... And then there's a woman running into their midst yelling for help. We have a precedent moment - enough, in fact, that the floundering drunkard gets a moment of distraction. The men and their blanket? They scarper. Rats brought to light. Upstairs? Well. Let's be honest. Larrin is /very drunk/. Vhramis is /very ninja/. In a deranged way. WHUMP. THUD. "Wha!" SMACK. The mercenary is not in a chair anymore. In fact? He's looking up at Vhramis, wondering why he's just been tackled by a wild-eyed ranger, and /WHERE DID MY BOTTLE GO/ and finally, "an.... who the SHADES are /you!/" That gets through the utter and complete surprise. Lucius Nepos is at first, too, very ready to toss his viscious barbed spear at the sound of the knuckle rapping, before he luckily spots exactly who it is; that certain type of movement, recognizable only to someone who's worked with the person performing it. He relaxes his grip a bit, nodding and then holding his guard position. He is either oblivious or simply too busy with his task to pay much attention to the ruckus outside, or inside the room Vhramis just invaded, either. Things go wrong. Terribly wrong. Faced with an oddly limber guardsman, his feet finding themselves oddly planted as he takes a couple crossbow bolts with a snarl, Varo goes down to his knees. His face immediately loses its cool confidence, contorting into a rage. "YOU. BLOODY. INGRATES!" screams a voice of a /distinctly/ noble accent, a hand reaching to pull out an item from his belt-bag. The item is tossed before the guards, and revealed to be a Signet of the Crown. "You /SHOOT/ a drunk? What sort of murderous /bastards/ trained you? You two will help that woman. You other two will take me to the Temple. If you do not follow my orders /immediately/, I will /personally/ see that all of your jewels and your commander's jewels are skewered on a /pike/ on the Emperor's way," growls the man, his tone angry but low enough so that just the guards can hear. "You Larrin? We're going to talk..." Vhramis whispers to the man, staring intently down at him, kris in hand held near drunken man's throat in a rather meaningful way. "Nepos, get in here," he calls out over his shoulder briefly, out to the hallway. Blackfox looks over her shoulder, slowing her pace as she sees her pursuers fleeing into the night. "They...they tried to throw a blanket over me..." she explains, pointing back down the alley. Content to let her brother-at-arms and onetime commander handle the interrogation, Reese whips into position just to the right of the door. Back against the wall, tucked in the darkness of the corner, she keeps an ear tuned to the conversation inside and eyes carefully trained on the hallway and its peripheries. There's a /meaningful knife/. And whatever sentimental value it has? It has Larrin's attention, at least. But what's odd is the fact that the man just laughs, just short of a sob - perhaps he's not /all/ there. But, regardless, he smells of cheap, rotgut grain alcohol and no bathing for enough time to make it particularly vile, in that proximity. The guardsmen are quick to step up past Fox, even without prompting - the blonde crouches, ignoring the threats, to cooly pick up the ring, to look it over, and to study Norran for a moment. "Sir." It's even polite, that greeting. "Shoulda told us sooner, Lord - would have spared all sorts o' trouble." He whistles up the street - "Bring the stretcher!" The darker haired of the two watching over Fox mutters, "Snatch-'n-grab. Rough part o' town, Mistress - woul' do better not bein' in it. Would have been in a brothel in the fetters come mornin'." "Alright." Comes the distinctive lack of protest from Nepos's low, rough voice. He retreats into the room and then does another about turn to face Vhramis and his quarry. "Well well. Look here." He smiles, buttspike of the spear slowly lowering onto the ground near Larrin's face. Wolfsbane waits for Lucius to enter the room, watching Larrin closely, before giving the man a slight shake. Not much, of course, what with how drunk he obviously is. The smell? Well, Vhram probably smells at least as bad. "Who called that attack on Night's Edge?" "That is Sir /Valoria/. I will not have /you/ tell me what it is I should or should not have done, /especially/ after this. There were /four/ of you, and one drunk! I was nearly /asking/ for you to bring me in, and you'd rather shoot first and then shoot later! A disgrace, even if this is the Shadow District! Watch your tone, and give that back. I can walk," growls the newly-identified Knight, making his way unsteadily to his feet as he begins to limp toward the direction of the temple, clothes beginning to stain crimson. Whether or not he offers, the Knight uses the blonde guardsman as a crutch as he makes his way along. "An investigation is underway. Let your men know to ignore happenings inside that building, though see one or two to stay and do something about the door. It would look odd otherwise." "And they call /us/ barbarians," Fox says under her breath, "My thanks to you," she nods to the man, turning to go, "I think it will be a long time before I pass this way again." Caprice does not move save for a cant of her head and a thoughtful look askance. Something has caught her interest. The blonde guardsman bears that burden - "Two nights ago, Sir Valoria - four guradsmen w' lost when they were brought down b' arrows from on rooftops when arrestin' a drunk like yerself." Just a quiet statement of fact - but the ring is handed back, the men keeping both Fox and Nor in a sort of protective square. "Wi' see what we can do with th' door, then." The darker haired one nods, "Likely wise, Mistress, 't is. Would hate findin' ye in an alley." Upstairs, Larrin closes his eyes, "Retribution. S' what he called himself." It's defiant. "Kill me. S' about time /somebody/ did." "No, no, my friend. You're gonna tell us all ya know. Else t'aint gonna be slow, or fun for ya. But let's let ya think a little bit first... in the black." Lucius looks over to Vhramis, making a punch-y motion in the air and then nodding at Larrin. "Shooting the drunk in that situation wouldn't have saved them, since the arrows were from an ambush. It just would've resulted in /shooting a drunk/! Your vicinity was secure. You overreacted. If I was just a freelander it wouldn't have mattered, but much like myself, you've found yourself to be /quite unfortunate/. Let us leave it at that, and I'll take no further actions against you. *wince* Bows, such a coward's way. This wasn't very fun at all." grumbles the Knight as he's led off. ---- Return to Season 7 (2008) Category:Logs